Forever from Hope
by Eruaistainiel
Summary: Chauvelin's "backstory" : please R&R!


Light streamed in an open doorway on the bustling, preoccupied street of in Paris

_Forever from Hope_

_Laura Beth Hooper_

Light streamed in an open doorway on the bustling district of St. Antoine in Paris. On the step stood a young man who appeared to be on the verge of dawning manhood, yet possessing a maturity beyond his age, reflected by his pale blue eyes that had infinite depths and at this moment, did not see the filth which characterized that district of Paris. They looked into the past and saw precious memories of his loving parents, and that fateful day when the king's men came holding papers from his father's press which stole from him his mother, his father, and ultimately his life and put them upon the guillotine, leaving him nothing but his existence to sustain him.

For a split second, the face melted and tears hovered in those pale blue eyes. But he furiously bit his lip until it bled and hardened his face tenfold. No! No, he, Chauvelin, would not go against that oath he had made to himself that day years ago when the tears had finally run dry and, in the most pitiful state, wallowing in the fleas and the filth that had been foreign to him when he had a mother, he promised himself that he would never cry again. The sun began to sink, and he turned away, that dramatic beauty only existing to him as a painful reminder of his mother.

As he turned to leave, he caught sight of two horses leisurely progressing through the throng. As they approached, the conversation of the riders caused Chauvelin's face to transform from first apathetic to shocked, and then, abruptly, to fury.

"Here is the place that I was telling you about, Monsieur Burke," one of the riders, a young man, said to his partner who was obviously an elder English foreigner, both of whom were dressed in fine clothes, "the house where those two wretched fools lived before they were caught handing out treacherous papers." "There was at that moment so much deadly hatred, such fiendish malice in the thin face and pale small eyes (199)", that his face was a gruesome, contorted image of the innocence present there only moments before, as Chauvelin hastily stepped outside and planted himself in the path of the young man's steed.

"You are the wretched fool, man, who dare soil my parents' name!"

The man laughed arrogantly, and gracefully dismounted. "Is that so, _boy_?" He asked sarcastically, with a patronizing smirk.

For a moment Chauvelin glared into the other's perfectly clean face, and then he abruptly punched him. Stunned, the other stepped back and then rushed forward with a flying fist of his own. The fight which ensued was vicious and desperate. At last, the noble, cornered by Chauvelin's volley of fists drew his sword and blindly swung it at Chauvelin's neck. However, it was the blunt end that made contact, and Chauvelin was knocked into the street. The noble leapt onto his horse, and, accompanied by his friend, trampled the helpless Chauvelin under the merciless hooves of their beasts. There he lay as the moon rose and surveyed what new corruption the world had suffered while she had slept.

The morning dawned with vendors waking all to the sound of the glory of their wares and early shoppers clinking their coins. Amongst these, was a young girl, about thirteen, whose eyes fell upon pitiful Chauvelin. She pondered a moment and then ran off, returning soon with a man who appeared to be her brother. He lifted Chauvelin and set him down inside in his little shack.

Chauvelin woke to unendurable pain. His vision blurred, but through the fog he was able to make out the young girl, smiling gently at him. Surely she was an angel! Her face was that of perfection; "the sweet childlike mouth, round chin, and delicate throat, all seemed set off by the picturesque costume of that period. (38)" He could say nothing in his pain, but gazed at her and something like a hint of a smile played upon his lips as he slipped back into unconscious, her lovely face hovering before him.

Every day for the next year, the young girl returned to nurse him back to health. She would talk to him in her delightful voice, and he found that she was called Marguerite and she was an actress under "Troupe de Paris." Under her gentle care, his grief melted and he found himself falling more and more in love with her every passing moment. Eventually, when he was able to leave his bed, her visits became less frequent. He could not let her go, however, and began to visit her at the camp.

That evening, as he had regularly for the past month, he walked the long journey from his shack to the outskirts of the city to the tent she shared with her brother, and he heard them conversing as he approached. He was about to go inside when he heard a word that made him freeze: his name. He stood there for a moment that was an eternity in time as his entire being strained forward to hear her next words.

"Yes, I fear he is quite smitten with me," she was saying in her light, carefree way.

"You fear?" Her brother asked.

"Yes--Now don't get me wrong, dear Armand! I do pity him ever so much! But-- oh! He is so very hideous. The mere thought of looking at his dreadful face for the rest of my life is terrifying…"

Chauvelin heard no more. He staggered back and fell to his knees in a puddle of mud. Was it true? He looked at a reflection-- his reflection; an old man with a crooked and deformed face and a tussle of hair, pre-maturely gray from pain. He slowly rose and a single tear fell and sent that horrible face into a blur of ripples. Angrily he swiped his eyes, and grabbing a handful of dirt threw it into the reflection.

They would pay! They would suffer! The whole race of noble blood which took from him first his family, and then his love. Vengeance would be his! He resolvedly turned, but then looked back at the tent which held his last hope of joy, "and a curious look of intense longing, of deep and hopeless passion, (51)" filled his eyes. Tears tempted once more, but he ground his teeth and marched away, away forever from hope.


End file.
